Saturday, January 16, 2016

Show (Me) Choir

 I have heard there are places in the world that do not know the wonders of High School Show Choir.

Places where the spotlights never shine, sequins aren't a way of life, and drama is largely relegated to telenovelas.

I weep for these places.

Or I would, but I'm afraid my cat eye eyeliner might run.

Or my wiglet might fall off, skitter away and frighten small children.

Or my bumpit might slip askew making me look (even more) like a crazed unicorn (because I only have, like, 10 strands of very thin, fine hair on top of my already pointy head).


How I was ever able to reach 50... I mean 39... years of age without wearing excessive amounts of sequins, glitter, faux hair pieces, massive amounts of eyeliner and “50 dolla' make you holla'-” red lipstick – and – and this IS important – make it look good – is beyond me.

'Cuz let me tell you.

I would have rocked that shit.


Back in the day, our swing choir – I believe we still called it swing choir, because every once in a while I slip up and still call it that and today's show choir kids look at me like I'm speaking Klingon – put on a little extra makeup, but nothing fancy – and – and this is a BIG AND – AND – we had (Are you ready for this? Are you sitting down? Fair warning. Don't say I didn't tell you.) (Take a deep breath.)

One outfit.


You read that right.

There was no costume change.




I'm not really sure, because I was part of the band. Because, as I've said in past blog-posts, I can't carry a tune in a bucket with two hands. And I can barely walk across a perfectly smooth, level floor, let alone dance on a wobbly stage in heels while looking up, smiling and singing.

But as long as you are fanning yourself and feeling faint...

I don't remember a lot of glitter or sequins.


I said it.

We suffered from glitter under load.

Imagine there's no glitter/ It's easy if you try...

Unless you've just spent the day at a modern Iowa High School Show Choir Competition, in which case you are HAVING trouble FOCusing BeCauSe You are SUFfering from SPARKLE and FOG overload and you have the uncontrollable desire to app – CLAPCLAPCLAP – laud and randomly shhh – WOOT WOOT – ouuuuut and scrEEEEEAAAAmmmm for no apparent reason other than because the ten million other people jammed into this high school gymnasium (max. occ. 800) are SCREAMING for no apparent reason other than they are supporting the talented, brave, be-sequined, eye-linered, pouf-haired, sweating, singing, panting, dancing, amazing, high school students performing up on the (swaying from all that energy) stage.


(well deserved) Mic Drop.

Because these days that's where I spend my Saturdays.

Out in the audience.

Cheering and clapping and screaming and beaming and cringing and smiling while the show choirs perform.

Because that's my boy – the drummer with all the hair and the timing and the talent, the one who won't speak to me in the hallway but who isn't opposed to taking money or snacks. And I know all those kids in the – AMAZING – band (didn't they just blow you away?). And can you believe the kids in that crew that get everything put together just right without freaking out (much)? And I know those kids who are singinganddancing andsweatingandpanting andmakingitlooksoeasy and Sounding. So. Good.

Because I'm a show choir mom.

But not just a show choir mom.

Because you can't be just a show choir mom or dad or grandparent, aunt, uncle, sibling, cousin, coach, director, choreographer, accompanist, or... anything.

You are a hair-fixing, tie-straightening, emergency-drum-head-buying, lunch-money-providing, bobby pin- and safety pin- carrying, tear-drying, concession stand-working, concession stand-consuming, alteration-making, stage hand, hugging, clapping, cheering, shouting fool for show choir.

Because once you've been exposed to glitter and sequins and cat-eye eyeliner and bumpits...


What can I say?

Other than I'm gonna make that shit look good.


While I'm grocery shopping.

Fair warning.

1 comment:

  1. Hilarious post that triggers not-too-long-ago memories.
    "the one who won't speak to me in the hallway but who isn't opposed to taking money or snacks"
    LOL. I can relate to that, and so can 800 million parents out there. Anne.